It Is Pleasant To Have

All Things Journey: Sun And Moon, Morning, Noon, And Afternoon, Night And All Her Stars; 'twixt The East And Western Bars Round They Journey, Come And Go! We Go With Them!

Upon My Word, I Think The Truth Is The Hardest Missile One Can Be Pelted With.

Oh, Child, Men's Men: Gentle Or Simple, They're Much Of A Muchness.

Her Own Misery Filled Her Heart—there Was No Room In It For Other People's Sorrow.

If I Could Only Fancy Myself Clever, It Would Be Better, But To Be A Failure Of Nature And To Know It Is Not A Comfortable Lot. It Is The Last Lesson One Learns, To Be Contented With One's Inferiority -- But It Must Be Learned.